These Small Hours
by coveredinbees14
Summary: Inspired by the question, "Is Spot Conlon really dangerous?" Rated T for physical violence and references to abortion.
1. Prologue(ish)

Disclaimer: Newsies belongs to Disney.

_The blood seeped over the cobblestones toward her feet. The slow trickle mixed with the ice and snow, creating a dark puddle alongside the body lying face down in the alley. Flakes of snow had already begun to fall, covering everything in a thin white blanket._

_The small group of boys began to turn and walk away. It was done. No sense in freezing to death or taking the chance of ending up like that poor bastard laying there. Money would be exchanged later, payment for those who had the foresight to bet on the scrawny 14 year old. _

_She looked up and saw his clear blue eyes gazing at her steadily. There was no fear or regret or sympathy. It was unnerving to see the look of calm on his face. Brooklyn was his._

The room was practically deserted. Most of the boys had wandered off back toward the lodge house or toward Sands Street where they could pay for a night's company. As a whole the evening had been pretty uneventful. Only three fights and none ending in serious bloodshed. Spot settled back into a chair, propping his feet up on the table in front of him as he lit a cigarette. Her sudden laughter drew his attention across the room to the table where she sat across from Racetrack. Spot felt something akin to jealousy but dismissed the feeling easily. Still, he might as well take the opportunity while it was there.

"Race tell you he's leaving?" Spot asked, making his way across the room and taking a seat at their table. He felt satisfied seeing the wounded look on Tay's face.

"Gotta broaden my horizons, kid," Race answered, shooting Spot a dirty look which Spot returned.

"Where?" Tay asked quietly, staring down at the cards in front of her.

"Manhattan. Figured it might suit me better."

Spot couldn't help but roll his eyes. Manhattan was weak, everyone knew it. But Race had made it clear he wasn't interested in sticking around while Spot was in charge. He claimed too many changes had been made, too many people had been hurt. Spot chose to blame it on the fact that Race was too laid-back, too easy going to survive in Brooklyn.

Spot watched as Tay tossed a penny into the center of the table, adding to the small pile between her and Race. Of course Higgins was letting her win, for some reason he always had a soft spot for Tay. But he was smart enough to only play her when no one else was around.

"What's it like there?" she asked hesitantly. Spot instantly saw the question for what it really was.

"Don't get any bright ideas. He don't want you around," Spot put in before Race could respond. Tay stood abruptly, tossing her cards down.

The look she gave Spot was pure spite and as she walked away he heard her murmur, "I hate you."

He would make her pay for that.

"Lay off her," Race told him. He pocketed the coins, keeping Spot from taking them for himself.

"Ain't even left yet and Manhattan's already makin' you soft, Higgins," Spot replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, you're a real big shot. Beatin' on girls," Race answered. He picked up the cards Tay had left and began shuffling the deck. It was an old habit. Spot watched as the worn cards flipped easily through his hands. It had been years since they had played one another. Race took pleasure in taking Spot's money and Spot resented the hell out of him for it.

"She knows the rules."

"Jeezus, you and your fucking rules. You oughta set foot outside Brooklyn one time, there's a whole world out there that don't revolve around you."

"Better watch it, Higgins," Spot warned him. "You still owe me. Unless you're willing to give up Sheepshead."

Spot stood and tossed his cigarette butt onto the floor, content with what he considered the upper hand in the situation. Race may be leaving, but he'd be back and Spot would still be able to hold that against him. As for Tay, well, he'd take care of that. Without another word, Spot turned and walked out into the night.

(Author's note: The name came with the original story and although I've reworked the overall story here, the name stuck. I do apologize for that.)


	2. Chapter 1

"_We have to go."_

_She pulled the patched jacket tighter around her body and recoiled from the sight of blood on his hand as he reached out to her. He crouched to the ground and scooped a handful of fresh snow to scrub at the stain. The air was still and all she could hear was her own heart beating. This couldn't be it. They couldn't leave him laying there. It was so cold. _

_The sound of a bull's whistle pierced the silence and he grabbed her arm, pulling her away as she stumbled through the piles of snow. All sense of direction was lost as they skirted behind buildings and through the maze of streets. She felt her coat rip as she scrambled through the broken basement window ahead of him. The only light in the room was the spark at the end of the cigarette he lit as they sat huddled in a corner. She knew that tomorrow, when the sun came up, she would lose him. He was Brooklyn now, and there was no going back._

The sun was setting, making it harder to see by the minute. Spot swung down from his perch above the docks, landing lightly on his feet. He paced up and down the dock, tapping the bronze-tipped cane against the weather beaten planks of wood with each step. A nervous cough drew his attention and he looked up at the lanky blonde kid standing there.

"She ain't here yet?," Reilly asked as Spot tucked the cane back through his belt loop.

"Would I be standin' here if she was?" Spot asked coldly. Reilly seemed half-inclined to answer but thought better of it.

"I told her, just like you said," Reilly blurted out, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. Like most of the others Reilly was worthless when it came to brains. "I heard what they've been saying 'bout her, but I didn't say nothing."

Spot ignored Reilly as he stammered on nervously. The fact that the rumors had spread so far was news but he wasn't going to give the kid the satisfaction of thinking he had information Spot didn't. The smell of cigar smoke drifted down toward Spot and he quickly dismissed Reilly. Should have known, Spot thought, as he started walking toward the old ferry depot building.

It had been months since Racetrack had officially left Brooklyn, but Spot's prediction that he wouldn't be able to sever all ties came true. Under terms more agreeable than Spot would have liked he agreed to give safe passage to Race so he could keep selling at Sheepshead. It was just his way of making sure that Race owed him.

"Conlon," Race said, nodding once as Spot approached him.

"Heard you have something that belongs to me. Where is she?" Spot replied. He realized Tay would be well aware Spot would be looking for her. And Racetrack was the only friend she had outside of Brooklyn.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"I ain't in the mood, Higgins."

"You Brooklyn boys never did have much in the way of manners."

"In case you've forgotten, I can make your life pretty difficult," Spot threatened.

"Yeah, cause it's a real peach now," Race answered, rolling his eyes as he flicked cigar ashes into the light wind.

"You want to help her out so bad? Fine, take her," Spot replied, changing tactics as he realized Race wasn't going to give Tay up easily. "Good luck trying to find some place that'll take her in."

"Oh, yeah? And why's that?" Race asked in a bored tone of voice.

"She's knocked up," Spot answered smugly. Even in the dim lighting he could see Race hesitate, his eyes narrowing as he considered what Spot had just told him. "Already got kicked out once. Ain't a lotta places that want a girl like that hanging around. "

It wasn't the kind of problem Race wanted to deal with. He prided himself on being a loner and Spot knew he would only go so far in helping Tay. Once Race gave her up all Spot had to do was show her there was one less person out there she could trust.

The bridge was crowded with an assortment of people from men in top hats and women in silk dresses to the plain clothed working class on their way home from Manhattan. Spot nodded once in the direction of the boys selling papers on the walkway and continued quickly through the crowd. Almost halfway across he spotted Tay, standing with her back to him with one hand tightly gripping the railing. He knew she was terrified of heights; he had never even seen her attempt to cross the bridge before. That she was willing to do so now told him everything about her state of mind.

"Shoulda taken the ferry," he said as he walked up and leaned against the railing next to her.

"He told you," Tay answered. Her voice was resigned, as though she had been expecting him.

"Turns out he didn't want nothin' to do with you or your little situation," Spot answered callously.

"I just…" Tay's voice trailed off as she looked out over the water. She took a deep breath before telling him, "I want to keep it."

"That ain't a choice."

"It is if I leave."

"And go where? You know what they do to girls like you? Toss 'em in jail, or worse. That's what you want?"

She reached into the canvas bag that hung across her body and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it out to him. Spot unfolded it and shook his head as he read it.

"I knew you was stupid, I didn't think you was this stupid," Spot scoffed as he crumpled the paper in his hand. He tossed it over the edge, dismissively.

"It wasn't stupid," Tay muttered. He was reminded of how childishly stubborn she could be.

"You think they'd let you keep it? Ain't nobody taking you in. The only thing they'd do is take it from you and ship it off to some farm in the middle of nowhere," Spot explained cruelly.

"I need more time. Please." The wind whipped her hair around her face but he could still see the tears in her eyes. The sight didn't move him in the slightest. This was Brooklyn, there were rules. And when those rules were broken, someone had to pay.

"You know that ain't how it works," Spot answered with a wry smile. "So, let's you and me take a walk."

He turned and looked out over the water , leaning close enough to Tay that he saw her flinch. In a voice low enough that only she could hear he told her, "And if you try and leave Brooklyn again, I'll kill you."


	3. Chapter 2

"_I'm sorry."_

_He wasn't. He was never sorry. She was surprised he didn't choke on the words. But she wouldn't tell him that. Not anymore. She held the rag up to her bleeding lip and avoided his eyes. There was no warmth in them anymore._

_Nothing was broken, nothing that would need a doctor. The split lip was a mistake, he had lost control. The marks on her back and arms could all be hidden. Nothing that would draw attention. She had tried to play by his rules and failed, again. A little voice inside told her to run but she ignored it. It was too late. He had slowly, methodically taken everything from her until she no longer knew where she left off and he began._

"She won't be hurtin' much longer, there's nothing left. Next time, the price goes up." The midwife gave him a knowing smile. It vanished as Spot glared at her. She quickly pocketed the money it had taken him a week to scrape together and left Spot standing in the hallway. The heavy scent of perfume in the air gave him a headache. Two girls edged past him, their gaudy silk skirts brushing up against his legs. The one winked at him as she passed and he tried to remember if he had spent time with her before.

Spot hesitated for a brief moment before opening the door to Tay's room. For the first time that he could remember he was uneasy about what he had done. It was not a feeling he particularly liked. Regret was something foreign and weak. The fact that Tay still managed to get under his skin was infuriating. Her ability to make him feel anything at all only made him want to hurt her more.

Spot pushed the door open and entered the room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light as he shut the door behind him. The room wasn't much to look at, just a washstand and a plain metal bedstead. Tay sat on the edge of the thin mattress, hugging her knees to her chest. It had been a long time since he had seen that amount of pain in her eyes.

"Get up, it's time to go," Spot told her. "And quit looking at me like that. I did you a favor. You didn't want it."

Tay ignored him and chose to continue sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him intently. There were times when he had a feeling she could see right through him, past the arrogance and rough exterior, to the boy he was before Brooklyn. Sooner or later he was going to make her understand that boy was gone.

At least she hadn't cried. He couldn't stand it when girls started bawling. Tay had always preferred to use silence as her defense mechanism. She would withdraw into herself and stubbornly refuse to speak to him. But he had learned how to deal with that.

"I gave you plenty of time to run but you just stood there, waiting. Always wanting me to do your dirty work. Just like with Kieran," Spot taunted her.

"Stop it," Tay said softly. It was a low blow and he knew it. They hadn't talked about her older brother, not since the night she found out he was killed. Spot felt his jaw tense as he tried to keep from smiling, satisfied to have forced her hand. He knew each and every one of her weaknesses.

"Look who found her voice," Spot mocked.

"You took everything from me," Tay challenged him. She was smart enough to wait until they were alone to pick a fight. Without his reputation to worry about he was slightly easier to deal with, but not by much.

"Let me explain something, doll-face. If I took anything from you, it's cause you were more than willing to give it to me."

"This was mine."

"And now it ain't." Spot tried to keep his voice even but he was losing patience with her. She had no idea the lengths he went to in order to protect her. "I don't remember you being so keen on babies when we met."

"Don't do this," Tay said carefully. Her small hands were gripping the edge of the bed, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on. Mentioning her family was the easiest way to cause her pain. Spot knew she blamed herself for Kieran's death. That if she had only stayed home, been the kind of girl her mother wanted her to be, then Kieran wouldn't have ended up just another victim of life in Brooklyn.

"That is why you left, right? Too many mouths to feed. So you just followed him out the door. And now look at you," Spot told her, feigning sadness. "A dead brother, and a dead baby. Tough luck, Tay."

Spot caught her arms easily as she tried in vain to strike at him. He threw her to the ground easily, straddling her body and pinning her to the floor.

"Are you done?" Spot asked. Tay fought to regain control of her arms but stopped when Spot pressed the blade of his knife lightly against her throat. "I said, are you done?"

"Let go of me," Tay answered through clenched teeth.

"No," Spot smirked. "You need to get something straight, doll-face. You ain't pretty, or smart, and you sure as hell ain't strong. You're nothing."

"Then let me leave," Tay pleaded.

"You had your chance," Spot answered. He slid the knife back into his pocket before brushing his fingers over the faded bruise along Tay's jaw. "Besides, we both know why you stay, doll."

As he stood he twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling her to her feet alongside him. "Now like I said, get the fuck up. It's time to go."

(Author's note: I'm not sure about this chapter. My apologies. And I wanted to point out, her name is not short for anything. It's a river in Scotland. As always, reviews are more than welcome. Thanks!)


	4. Chapter 3

"_Thank you."_

_She turned away as the door closed behind her and headed back down the dark, foul-smelling hallway. Her family was gone, replaced by another group of immigrants who couldn't give her any information about where her family's whereabouts. Part of her knew better than to be surprised that they left without her. After all, she had turned her back on them first._

_She stumbled out into the dazzling sunlight reflecting off the snow and crumpled onto the front stoop. He took a seat next to her and reached for her hand, rubbing her fingertips absent-mindedly as she stared, unseeing, at the street. _

"_They're gone." Her voice sounded unfamiliar and far away._

"_I know." _

_She watched his thin, ink-stained fingers interlaced with her own and tried desperately to hold on to the small knot of hate she held in her heart._

The interior of the bar was dim but provided a welcome escape from the heat of the day. There were a handful of patrons seated at the counter, hunched over glasses of stale beer. Spot sat at one of the tables with his back to the wall, allowing him to keep an eye on the door. He wasn't expecting trouble but he never liked being caught off-guard. Through the greasy front window Spot could see Reilly standing guard just outside the door, smoking a cigarette as he paced back and forth.

Spot turned his focus away from the window and back to Tay. She sat across from him, her head bent over the table as she picked at the food on her plate, pushing it around in circles.

"Either eat or don't," Spot told her irritably. He leaned back and stuck a cigarette between his lips, lighting the end and tossing the spent match onto the floor.

"I'm not hungry," Tay answered. She tapped the fork against the plate repeatedly, scowling at Spot as she did so. "And I didn't do nothin' wrong."

"You never do, Tay," he shot back. It was a cat and mouse game. She would lose. She always lost when it came to the tug of war between herself and Spot. He paused before asking the question he already knew the answer to.

"What were you doing in Sheepshead?"

"I wasn't…" Tay started to say. Spot reached across the table and backhanded her across the face. The other patrons didn't even bother to look up. It was nothing new in this neighborhood.

"Don't lie to me," Spot warned her. Her eyes met his for a split second as she touched her cheek where he had struck her. It would be a bruise by morning.

"I went to see Race. Just to talk," Tay explained quietly. That was lie number two.

"All that way just to talk, huh? What'd you talk about?"

"He gave me a tip 'bout a new sellin' spot." Another lie. Spot knew all about that trip to Sheepshead. He'd see how long her little rebellious act lasted once she understood that.

"Did'ya think I wouldn't find out?" Spot asked, leaning forward to flick cigarette ash into the nearly empty glass of whisky in front of him. Tay's brown eyes lifted and she met Spot's gaze, staring back at him evenly. Spot reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled train ticket which he set on the table.

"Going somewhere?" Tay asked innocently.

"I guess I ain't made myself clear to you," Spot replied. Tay began to tremble slightly as Spot calmly tore the ticket up and tossed the pieces onto the floor.

"So now what? You gonna kill me?"

Spot leaned back in his chair and appeared to consider the idea. He watched as Tay stared down at her lap, pressing her hands tightly together.

"Not today," Spot finally answered. "I ain't playing games anymore, understand?"

"Yes," Tay murmured.

"As for Race…"

"It ain't Race's fault," Tay said sharply. She quickly realized her mistake. "Please, Spot. Leave him out of this."

Tay fully understood what Spot was capable of and he used that to his advantage. He had no true intentions of doing anything to Race, but it suited his interests better if Tay believed Race was in harm's way. Her sense of self-preservation had always been overpowered by her desire to protect anyone she cared for. Racetrack was no exception.

"Sorry, doll-face," Spot replied. "Can't have people interfering in my business."

"It's my fault. I asked him to buy it for me," Tay said frantically. Spot shrugged and tossed a few coins on the table as he stood to leave. She reached out and grabbed his hand, her fingers encircling his wrist as she blocked his way. He glanced down to where her skin touched his and she let go quickly as if burned.

"Don't hurt him," Tay begged. "I'll do anything."

"I know." Spot stepped past her and headed for the door, leaving Tay standing alone with her thoughts.

-xxxxxxxxx-

Race followed the sounds of fighting out onto the docks, lingering behind for a moment to pocket the leftover money from the empty table. He knew from experience that the later at night it got, the more likely it was for a fight to break out. It was doubtful any one from Brooklyn would even notice their winnings had gone missing until the next morning. And by then, Race would be long gone.

The crowd had grown and it was difficult for Race to see who the two fighting it out in the middle were but he wasn't much interested. Typical Brooklyn, acting like a pack of wild dogs. Some of the boys were getting a little too sore about losing so any break was fine by him. He could use some fresh air, although he wasn't sure you would call the smell of fish guts and garbage that hung around the docks fresh.

Race meandered slowly over the wooden planks, carefully stepping around the debris of broken down crates and leftover machinery. Old fishing nets hung from some of the timbers above, swaying gently in the breeze and casting shadows from the light of the full moon. The sounds of voices, low and urgent, revealed the presence of couples looking for a bit of privacy. Race chuckled as he passed. As he approached the far end of the dock he recognized Tay sitting alone with her back towards him.

"Where ya been, kid?" Race asked. He took a seat against one of the pilings while Tay sat with her legs hanging off the edge of the dock.

"Go away, Race," Tay murmured. She turned her head away, wiping fiercely at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. Race was taken aback by the realization that she was crying. Had he ever seen Tay cry?

"That's a fine how-do-ya-do," Race joked, trying to keep the mood light. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket, shaking one out and using it to light the cigar stub he held in his teeth.

"You got a cigarette?" Tay asked suddenly. Race paused for a moment before searching his vest and handing Tay the matches along with the requested cigarette.

"Small wonders," Race chuckled under his breath. It was clear Tay was not a stranger to smoking as she exhaled smoothly. He knew Spot didn't approve of girls smoking but Tay didn't seem to care that night. They both sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the water lap against the pilings.

"He found the ticket," Tay revealed in a quiet voice.

"It's ok. We'll find another way," Race assured her.

"No."

"Tay."

"I said no." There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Race was familiar with Spot's way of treating Tay and assumed he had made another idle threat. There was a guilty feeling in the pit of Race's stomach, driven by the rumors that had swirled after Tay had tried leaving the first time. Keeping on Spot's good side had caused Race to hesitate but since then there was the distinct feeling that one day Spot may finally go too far.

"You can't stay here, kid. It ain't worth it," Race warned.

"I can take care of myself," Tay answered.

"You're doin' a hell of a job with that," Race retorted.

"Like you know so much." They were both angry, at each other, and at themselves. Race took a deep breath, struggling to understand the hold Spot had over her.

"Why do you let him do this?"

"Let him?" Tay scoffed. "I don't let him do anything, Race. He does what he wants."

"So leave."

"No."

"Is this still about Kieran?" Race asked thoughtfully. It was the only explanation he could come up with for why she would continue to put up with Spot's abuse.

"You don't understand. You weren't there." Tay stared out over the water, her shoulders slumped.

"I wasn't. And you shouldn't have been there that night, either," Race replied.

"I was so angry," Tay began, her voice was quiet but strong. "I wanted him to go after Rook. I asked him to do it. I didn't understand what I was askin' him to do. He told me what it would cost, but I didn't care. It's my fault. I did this to myself."

Race sat completely still as she spoke, absorbing the details of her story. He hadn't been there the night Spot had taken over Brooklyn, although he had heard the story many times from various sources. Most stories touted Spot as some sort of hero, the boy king who was capable of murder at the tender age of fourteen. Race had been the same age as Tay's brother, seventeen, when Kieran was killed in a street fight with Rook, Brooklyn's leader at the time. Rook had always claimed it had been an accident; that Kieran had rushed him in a drunken rage but there were always doubts.

"Kid, he would have done the same thing with or without you," Race said gently.

"Maybe," Tay answered dully. "He said he would take care of me. And he has. So I'm sorry I got you mixed up in this, Race. But I'm stayin' here."

"Believe me, kid, I can handle him. Not so sure 'bout you."

"I'm fine." She flicked the cigarette butt out into the water where it quickly disappeared. "He ain't always like people think."

"Yeah, he's a real sweetheart," Race laughed derisively. Tay smiled weakly at the joke and as the silence grew between them Race felt a lump in his throat as he came to a frightening realization. "You love him."

"Don't be stupid, 'course I don't" Tay said quickly, and unconvincingly.

"Then lemme ask you something," Race replied. "Whose baby was it?"

"Seems to me that ain't your business." A familiar voice cut through the dark and Race turned to see Spot standing behind him. There was no way of knowing how long he had been standing there and Race realized he had probably listened to their whole conversation. Tay hastily stood and attempted to pass by Spot but his hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly, holding her in place.

"It's two bits," Spot smirked as Race got up and brushed the dirt off his pants as he stood.

"Two bits?" Race repeated.

"To fuck her," Spot explained, gesturing to Tay. For once in his life Race was stunned into silence. Tay attempted to pull away from Spot, which resulted in him tightening his grip and causing her to wince.

"All we did was talk," Race answered, finally finding his voice.

"Time is money, Higgins. You of all people should know that. So you pay, or she does," Spot told him coldly.

For a brief second he thought of punching that smug look right off of Spot's face. But seeing the look of misery on Tay's face caused the thought to vanish. Race rummaged through his pockets and flipped a coin to Spot, who caught it easily.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Spot told him. He turned on his heel and led Tay off into the night. Race stood for a moment, watching the two of them disappear into the shadows. It was going to be a long walk back to Manhattan.

(Author's note: Not sure about adding a bit from Race's perspective but we'll see. As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. Thanks!)


	5. Chapter 4

"_Maybe you better teach your whore better manners."_

_It was the last thing she heard the boy say. When she opened her eyes there was a body laying in the street, groaning audibly. It was happening again. _

"_Did he hurt you?" There was a brief look of concern in his eyes before the indifference returned._

"_No." She didn't know whether to curse him or thank him. There wasn't a chance to do either as he turned his back and walked away._

The place Spot called his own was basically just an old storage room tucked into the back of a dilapidated warehouse. Compared with sleeping on the docks or in one the sweltering lodge houses it was decent enough. At least there was a bed.

Tay shifted from one side to the other, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bare mattress. She felt empty and exhausted but couldn't stop the thoughts swirling in her mind. Race's visit had brought up feelings she was trying so hard to forget.

She felt a lump rising in her throat and turned her face into the pillow. It was useless to cry, isn't that what he had always told her? She had learned crying only served to infuriate him and so over time Tay had simply learned to hold the tears back until she was alone. A flood of emotions hit her as she cried tears of grief and frustration.

Tay sat up quickly, wiping the tears away, as she heard a key turn in the locked door. There was barely enough moonlight to see anything but she could make out Spot's figure as he walked over and sat on the bed next to her. Tay pulled her knees up to her chest and reached down to the thin blanket, pulling it slowly up over herself.

She studied Spot's face, trying to guess his mood. It was difficult enough to read his feelings in the light of day. At night any misstep could be lethal. He tilted his head back and took a long drink from the beer bottle he'd brought with him, and then passed it to Tay.

"You have a nice chat with your friend?" Spot asked as Tay grimaced at the taste of the alcohol. His hand brushed against Tay's as he reached for the bottle.

"You said you would leave him alone," Tay answered. She pressed her back tightly against the wall, trying to keep a safe distance from him. There was no such thing.

"I gave you a chance."

"You only made it worse. He still thinks I should leave." The words were barely out of Tay's mouth when with one quick movement Spot threw the bottle against the wall opposite where it shattered and fell into pieces on the floor.

"I taught you better," Spot said flatly. "You're too old to still be believin' in fairy tales. Especially the lies Racetrack tells. He don't care 'bout you."

"He cares more than you do," Tay argued. She knew the conversation would likely end in disaster but there were some things she just wanted answers to. Of course, getting anything out Spot was like pulling teeth.

"You're alive, ain't you?" It was the short, simple truth. Tay knew the odds of her surviving on her own were slim to none without Spot. Or at least that was what she had come to believe over time. Which was exactly how he wanted it.

"Maybe I'd rather be dead, than live with you," Tay said bitterly.

"That so?" Spot asked calmly. He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and smiled knowingly as she pressed her face against his hand involuntarily. "Your secret is out, doll. Even Racetrack can see it."

"Don't," Tay whispered as she turned her face away, angry at herself for letting him in. Again. She felt dizzy as the memories of whispered promises that were never meant to be kept bubbled to the surface. No matter how she tried, she could not keep him from reaching her. And he knew it. She had learned long ago he had infinite patience when it came to getting what he wanted.

"Look at me." It wasn't a request. She felt his hand on her chin, forcing her face toward his. His eyes held a light that was unsettling to see. He traced each bruise, each scar as though admiring his own handiwork. Her skin turned to ice every place he touched her. She realized she had been holding her breath and exhaled softly.

Nothing would change. Tay would continue to give, he would continue to take. She had tried to push him away, physically and emotionally. But there was no point in trying to fight him. She had given him too much, sacrificing everything for some mistaken belief that he could love anyone.

"Why do you still think you can hide from me?" He kissed her roughly, pinning her to the bed. She hated him, she hated herself.

There were others. Tay had long since grown numb to that fact. With them he could be charming, always smiling and laughing in a way that drew women to him no matter the risk. Afterwards he was always gone too quickly to care about the emptiness and longing in his wake. Tay took comfort in the dark. Her humiliation was easier to hide that way.

* * *

><p>Spot sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt back over his head. The room was still and silent with the smell of beer still hanging in the air as the broken bottle lay on the floor.<p>

"Spot," Tay said quietly. He waited for her to continue but she fell silent.

"If you got something to say, then say it," Spot told her as he looked at her over his shoulder.

"What Race said earlier, about the-"

"What about it?"

"It was yours." Of course it was his. Spot had made sure no one else ever touched her. He wondered why she was bothering to bring it up. He didn't feel any worse about what had been done. It was over.

"Lucky me," Spot answered as he stood and walk out the door without saying anything else. As he turned the key in the lock he heard her crying. Harsh, ugly tears that almost touched him, but not quite. He hung the key back around his neck and walked out into the dark. It was only in the small hours of the morning that he would finally allow himself to succumb to sleep. Only then did he feel anything close to vulnerable.

The broken down building that had earlier been filled with light and noise now stood quiet. There was a lone candle burning on one of the tables, creating a small circle of light that revealed a figure sitting alone in the otherwise empty room. Spot cursed under his breath as he walked over, wondering why Racetrack was still in his territory.

"Somethin' on your mind, Higgins?" Spot asked as he took a seat opposite Race. His irritation grew as Race continued counting out solitaire cards. "I ain't in the habit of repeatin' myself. So spit it out."

"I just don't like seeing a friend of mine getting hurt," Race explained, foregoing the usual banter.

"That's rich, coming from you," Spot replied. "A month ago you didn't want nothing to do with her. But I guess it's easy for you now since there's no little bastard to worry about."

"That don't have anything to do with it." Spot felt a small inkling of satisfaction as Race scowled at him.

"If you're sore 'bout paying and not gettin' any, don't be. She ain't even that good," Spot commented as he kicked his feet up on the table. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and concentrated on lighting it to keep from grinning at the deep flush that was creeping over Racetrack's face.

"What do you want for her?" Race asked bluntly. Spot took the cigarette out of his mouth, studied the end for a moment, and continued smoking. Race added, "She deserves better than you."

"So you think you'll save her?" Spot asked coolly.

"Probably not," Race shrugged. He scraped a match across the surface of the marred wooden table and used it to relight his cigar stub. "But I never did know when to quit."

"Maybe you better learn," Spot suggested. "You're wastin' your time."

"Guess that ain't really for you to decide," Race said as he flicked ashes onto the floor. It was littered with cigarette butts and broken bottles.

Spot raised an eyebrow and reminded Race, "Everything about her is my decision."

Race studied him for a moment, tapping the edge of card on the table. He shook his head slightly and said, "I don't get what she sees in you."

"That's 'cause you don't know nothin' about her," Spot answered smoothly. "You think takin' her outta Brooklyn is gonna make her life better. But you can't offer her nothin'."

"At least I wouldn't beat on her," Race interrupted.

"I've told you before, she knows the rules." There was more to it than that. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. And if he treated Tay any differently than any other street kid under his thumb, the next guy in line would only be too happy to take his place. So he sacrificed Tay to keep Brooklyn. At least that's what he told himself.

"You know, people might be thinkin' you're jealous of me or something," Race said thoughtfully.

Spot felt his stare turn to ice and a dangerous feeling coursed through him as he looked at Racetrack. He took a moment before speaking. "You know what I want for her, Higgins?" He paused before saying one word, "Sheepshead."

An array of emotions played across Racetrack's face as Spot watched him absorb what had just been said. He expected a flat out refusal so it was surprising that Race seemed to be actually considering the idea.

"You're a real louse, you know that?" Race picked up the cards laying on the table and began shuffling them back together before sticking them in his pocket.

"Is that a no then?" Spot smirked as Race glared at him. It had been a risk to put the offer on the table, but he felt satisfied with the result. Race didn't bother saying anything else as he walked out the door without a backward glance.

* * *

><p>(Author's Note) Sorry I changed the chapter...just one of those things where I wrote it and liked it but read it and didn't. So fair warning - I might change it again but I'm not sure. My apologies!<p>

TheSecretPen1987 - Thank you for the review! You are right, it is meant to be set pre-strike. And I think "somewhat douche" is a good way to describe Spot. I love the character and hope no one minds this particular version of him. I'm so glad you like the story so far :-)

Galinda - Thank you for the review! I'm so sorry I couldn't get Race's perspective in this chapter but I am working on it!

SilverShoes - Thank you for the review! I'm so glad you like the story so far :-)

me - Thank you for the review and I'm thrilled that you like the story!

As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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